Keeping Time

by Suzanne Cleary

The debut collection of poetry by Suzanne Cleary.

Genres: Poetry

88 pages, Paperback

First published March 1, 2002

Reviews

[Jimmy · Rating 4 out of 5]

Here's a pretty good example:

ON HIS DEATHBED THE ACROBAT TELLS HIS DAUGHTER TO BUY LAND
by Suzanne Cleary

I see now
it was never the sky
I wanted

though for years I perfected
leaps and dives, arching, curling
tucking my chin hard into my chest
to spin free
far above my shadow.

Now I see
it was always the earth
its mysterious pull
I was celebrating.
It was always to return
to the earth's hard bargain, on two feet
my arms spread like wings.

There are enough birds, Edith.
The air is full of seeds
far better than we can ever be--
invisible, merciful.
When I watched you pass the hat
I wanted to crawl into our wagon
and lie with my hands crossed over my chest.
I wanted to count the potatoes and flour
and find for once enough.
I wanted to melt my father's gold watch
and buy you a horse
and shoes of thin leather.

Remember I never asked you
to walk on your hands.
I respected your fear of heights,
of the fireworks we set off
at the end of the show.

The hard-packed earth at the center of town
where the people gathered,
their thin shoulders touching,
that was my passion.

Remember before each trick
it was the red earth
I rubbed into my palms.

[Marguerite Hargreaves · Rating 5 out of 5]

Suzanne Cleary's poetry is glorious: thought-provoking, haunting, evocative and more. Some subjects are beautifully mundane and others less so, but they are all accessible because of the connections she makes through word artistry. This is a book to read again and again. I'm looking for more of her work.

"I am in love with loneliness, a man who lives far away.
...
This is the year of trying too hard followed by the year of not caring.
...
There is someone whispering into my ear, again, after I had forgotten the feel of that.
...
There is only imagined memory now.
...
And there is not knowing, finally, what to call joy and what grief, but wanting to tell it all in one breath so I will be here, and you."

"Sometimes the saint is a child. Sometimes the saint is a sinner, lost in a crowd, or in thought, an unlikely target for divine grace.
...
In Heaven, approximation is beautiful. It is only on earth we believe in perfection.
...
I want to love what is of the earth. As I love the grandmothers who say the rosary, prayers like small seeds ground between teeth."

"Death's thigh was pressed against our own."

"We wake knowing it is not the night that frightens us. It is our certainty that our limits define us. It is our certainty, in the face of our uncertainty that love does not end, that love's limits define it."